A few days enjoying the countryside
by Berylia-Crystalia
Summary: Holmes, Watson and dear Mary enjoying a few days in Mycroft's estate. No point no climax, no meaning.


Disclaimer : I don't own _Sherlock Holmes_ and abide to the vision provided by Guy Ritchie in his movie.

Annoying commentaries : My first time writing about Holmes, and my first time in English. Please do not hesitate to criticise.

xxx

A few days enjoying the countryside.

That's how Holmes sold the entire idea to them. To say that Watson had been reluctant would be quite a major underestimation. He could not even begin to contemplate why on Earth would he ever want to go spend a few days in Holmes' company at the countryside. But Mary had been quite keen on the idea so he granted her wish and assured Holmes that Mary and he would be delighted to attend this little stay at his brother's estate. Mary had declined the offer to bring a chaperon with her, after all, who better than her husband-to-be could protect her honour. Holmes had ridiculously stated he was going to protect Watson's. Mary had thought it a witty comment and laughed, much to Holmes' perplexity.

As he had imagined it all turned out to be a dreadful idea. Granted, things had begun rather well. At first Holmes had accomplished tremendous efforts to remain polite and turn conversation into something more socially acceptable when around Mary. Watson had even started to relax and let himself enjoy this impromptu holiday away from London.

Of course, that did not last.

"Oh Watson, what have you done again !"

By Jove and all the Roman pantheon, when exactly did raining cats and dogs become so completely and entirely his fault?

"I told you, Watson, didn't I, old chap, that it was going to rain today ! But you had to insist on us having a picnic in the meadow."

Holmes had been the one eager to go in the first place. He had pestered Mary and he like a child, had cut any escape route by giving Cook the entire day to herself, and then had forced the heavy basket into Mary's hands before heading off merry and free, humming to himself, leaving Watson to rescue his fiancée from under the consequent weight of a roasted chicken, one jar of cream, one of mayonnaise, about six dozens of sandwiches, two pies and four bottles of vintage wine Holmes had personally stolen from his brother's cellar.

"The small details, Watson ! It's always the details," the madman ranted on as they rushed through the downpour. "You should be more attentive! The barometer was edging towards low, and yesterday there were signs of lightening on the horizon. Really Watson, I can't fathom why you insisted on planning a picnic when you should have noticed it was going to rain !"

Minding his poor fiancée, Watson swallowed back the riposte that was on the verge of flowing away from his lips : he wouldn't want to let himself get carried away and in the heat of things blurt out something improper. He focused instead on running faster and avoid slipping on the wet muddy earth.

"Really, Watson, look what you've done !"

At long last they reached the safety of the house and Holmes carried on with his insane banter.

"Now miss Mary is soaked to the bones and she holds quite a resemblance to a drowned goose... Or maybe a derelict French pastry. And it's all thanks to you, Watson ! Oh wait, maybe more like Gladstone after he got himself into the tub and couldn't for the life of him get out of it. Doesn't she, Watson ?"

"My, Mr. Holmes, I must say you always have a kind word for a lady ! I understand why you still have your nanny to keep your household for you."

Mary handed the drenched wet white thing that used to be her lovely and expensive hat over to the servants awaiting them in the lobby.

"Do not pay him any attention, dear. You are lovely as ever."

"Really, John, you could at least look at me before saying that, would you let a lady think you couldn't care less what she looks like? As appalled as I am to admit it, I have to agree with him, I feel like a drowned goose."

Not bothering with removing her light jacket now glued to all the other layers of watery clothes, Mary lifted the muddy hem of her skirts, and took her leave by hastily retreating to her chambers.

"Well, old chap, seems like we need a long and hot bath to recover from your disastrous little picnic."

"Holmes..."

Fury boiled in him, and he did not realize his hands were squeezing the handle of the picnic basket he was still carrying.

"Anyhow, see you when I'll have avoided pneumonia."

And so he left him planted. Soaked, furious, still holding the basket whose weight was doubled thanks to the water, standing there, creating a muddy pond in the lobby and abandoned by his so-called friend ! What a fine picture he made !

Why had he ever agreed on being kind to this dangerous lunatic ? He couldn't find one good reason not to cut ties with him entirely ! After all, when had his friendship with Holmes ever started to make sense ?

"Sir, if you please, a hot bath is waiting for you upstairs."

"Let me guess, Mr. Holmes instructed you to prepare it before we left, didn't he? Oh and I suppose he must have also given you the exact time of when you should make it ready?"

"Why yes indeed, sir. May I have your coat and hat, sir ?"

Admitting his defeat, Watson gave what used to be a perfectly good hat and coat to the butler and entrusted him with the picnic basket, then, like a soldier returning home after a long battle, he went upstairs to remedy the cold and mud that clung to him.

"Do come in Watson, I should be finished in just a moment."

"Do I even want to know why are you taking a bath in the tub next to my rooms ?"

"I saw no reason to inconvenience my poor brother's servant, at least not more than necessary. What's more, yours happen to be an inch bigger."

Sighing, he began to peel off his icy clothes.

He was taking off his shirt by the time Holmes decided he looked enough like a prune. He just stood up and waited, his arms extended. Sighing and rolling his eyes just a little, Watson did what he always used to do and passed his bathrobe on to Holmes so that he wouldn't catch a cold.

"Now where is my pipe ?"

The madman that others used to call genius began to search in the weirdest places before finally reaching inside his robe's pockets.

"Oh, and Watson, you might want to preserve your sense of modesty by getting inside the tub quickly, unless you want your fiancée to hear the shrilly shrieks of the maid just about... now."

And shriek she did. Holmes successfully rescued the silver plate and china falling from her hands as Watson, cheeks aflame, plunged into the water.

"Holmes..."

"Now now, don't look at me like that. I had tea brought in for you. Because I care about you and take care of you. Here, have a cup of tea."

"I'm in my bath, Holmes. Plus you've spiked that tea."

"Well of course ! With that dreadful weather you need to be warm from the inside too."

No sense arguing with the lunatic. He accepted the teacup.

"And I spiked it just enough, we wouldn't want you drunk around Mary now would we ?"

Watson suspiciously sniffed the drink but the aroma of whiskey was quite faint. Letting himself relax in the hot water he sipped at his tea with a pleased sigh. The familiar scent of Holmes' pipe drifted towards him and he felt laziness and contentment soak through his bones. The fire cracked inside the hearth, the water rippled against the walls of the tub and the most comfortable silence descended upon them.

Watson awoke to lukewarm water and his skin felt like a prune. He dried himself up and put on the blue robe that was expecting him by the chimney.

He had not, however, expected to find Holmes asleep in his armchair. How peculiar. The man was always overflowing with such relentless energy, like an engine blasting under the pressure and heat. And now he was like a puppet whose strings had been severed. Deep lines etched on his face, heavy circles under his eyes, cheeks hollowed... the old cock didn't seem to be going well. It had been quite some time since they last saw each other and Watson hadn't realized, but now he couldn't help but wonder who did there remain to remind Holmes to eat and sleep when he lost himself in a case, who watched over him, to make sure that one of the most brilliant minds in the British Empire did not succumb to a petty cold turned into a pneumonia, or simply lose his life by going after criminals without having eaten properly...

Carefully, he placed a plaid on his legs and without making too much noise retreated to his bedroom where he changed clothes.

"Well John, what kept you so long ?"

Mary was embroidering a napkin by the warmth of the fireplace.

"I'm afraid I fell asleep in the bath dear. I hope you will be so kind as to forgive me my absence."

"What of mister Holmes ?"

"He is fast asleep. He looks pale and extremely tired. I don't think he's learned how to live alone yet. I should keep an eye on him, go visit Baker Street more often, it's starting to get me worried. What do you think, my dear ?"

"That Mr. Holmes will never part from his Nanny."

"Well certainly, I don't think he could handle Mrs Hudson leaving us."

Mary sighed but didn't add anything else, returning to her needlework. They shared tea and talked about the upcoming wedding, leaving the Holmes problem out of the conversation.

Upstairs, sprawled on his armchair, his legs covered by a warm woollen plaid, Sherlock Holmes smiled to himself.


End file.
